Beatrice
"Can he see where he's going?" I whisper to Cole as we follow the safari man over the lava shelf. The safari man is still wearing his dark sunglasses, and the only sliver of light anywhere is from the stars, and the hot lava in the distance.
Cole squeezes my hand. "I think he's going by his sense of smell, like a bloodhound."
The safari man is walking like he's tracking big game over the African savannah. It occurs to me that he's dressed for the activity, and I'm dressed to go to a luau on the beach. "You have nice boots," I tell the safari man. "Are those special for walking on lava shelves?"
"Yep, you see..." He embarks on a long explanation about the lava-deflecting superpowers of his boots and the exact temperature of lava and the melting point of rubber versus toxic chem
